higher ground: only god can make a tree, pt. II

I remember picking leaves and flowers from the grumpy neighbor's Gumamela shrub with my cousin Mutya. After we have gathered enough, we'd proceed to the common laundry area and try to make a palobo. It's probably one of the few tasks that involve getting one's hands dirty that I actually enjoy.

Then there's the Banyan tree in front of my childhood best friend's house. It's where Toti and I would usually hang out after our afternoon nap. We'd lie down under its shade and swap scary stories, discuss the latest in comic books, cards and video games, and talk about basketball and girls. Our world revolved around such trivial things. Fun isn't it?

And the creepy Guava tree by the Pasig River which caught the attention of several people, including myself and a group of friends, when smoke started to rise from its thick foliage one night. The elderly muttered that what we were witnessing was a Kapre smoking its tobacco. Others claimed that it actually came from the pile of leaves that was set on fire by the house owner while tending to his backyard. At nine thirty in the evening.

But these occurred a couple of years back.

Changes happened.

The Gumamela tree was brashly cut off by that grumpy old neighbor, probably to ward off the kids who pick on its leaves and flowers. The Banyan tree was taken down to make way for a more spacious driveway. The Guava tree was burned down by its owner.

Thing is, I was never really there when those trees got cut off, or taken down, or got burned to the ground. I inquired as to what happened when I noticed their absence. Did I give it much thought? Admittedly, no. I was already a different person then.

I know that everything has an expiration date. Like trees, like people.

It's just a matter of acceptance.